


Broken Clock

by Rynn336



Series: Call Me Hopeless, But Not Romantic [7]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Frontotemporal Dementia, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynn336/pseuds/Rynn336
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dying is harder than it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Clock

**Author's Note:**

> I have returned from the Last Frontier!  
> For those of you who were not aware, the reason I was not able to update was because I was in Alaska sea kayaking. But I'm back now, with an update!  
> I hope you enjoy!

_Why do you cry when you’re falling asleep_

_And how can you love without ever losing it all_

_Don’t put your faith in this when you won’t believe it_

Nagito stares at his reflection in the window, the world outside pitch black, the fluorescent light overhead making his head hurt. Sometimes he’s surprised he can see himself in windowpanes.

 

Even a broken clock is right twice a day. He tells himself that every day, vague, rational thoughts trapped like bubbles beneath plastic at the back of his mind as he frantically throws food into cupboards, an almost animal-like fear pulsing white-hot through his veins as if his very life depends on the groceries being perfectly organized. His hands shake uncontrollably, and occasionally he’ll drop a can, or he’ll stumble clumsily over his own feet when he rushes down the steps to get more food. Sometimes he can’t even rush. His body refuses to do what he tells it, and he hobbles through the halls of his home, leaning heavily on the wall, often tripping or running into things. It’s difficult for him to hold it when he needs to take care of business, and a good half of the clothes he puts in the laundry are only dirty because he couldn’t make it to the bathroom quite fast enough.

The doctors say he’s lucky, at this stage, to still be up and moving around. To still even know himself.

But he’d consider himself lucky if he could even be right twice a day. Ultimate Lucky Student, his ass. After this disaster, he doesn’t deserve to be called an Ultimate of luck.

Hope’s Peak sent him home because he could no longer “operate” (their words, as if Nagito is simply a malfunctioning machine, which, in all honesty, isn’t that far from the truth) as a fully functioning student of the Main Course. They claimed that they were sad to see such a valuable talent go to waste, but Nagito suspects that they really were glad to be rid of him. Or maybe they were telling the truth. It’s so hard for him to know these days.

 

Car headlights flare outside the window, and Nagito blinks slowly, dully and exhaustedly pulling himself out of his stupor. The neighbor’s car pulls into the driveway across the street, and he watches the young woman get out of her car. Even in the twilight, she holds herself tall, and her step is bouncy and quick, perpetually she’s a split second away from jumping up and down in excitement. Her dark hair is pulled back into two short pigtails, her white shirt practically glowing in the gray dark. She must be somewhere in her early twenties. Her car is beat up and rusty and her clothes are cheap and worn and yet everything about her very existence glows with anticipation and glee.

Does she have a boyfriend? Nagito finds himself suddenly, inexplicably curious about her. What does she do? Does she have a job or is she still in school? Why is she so happy?

He watches her go inside, and just as she pulls the door shut behind her, he’s struck with the realization that he will never be her.

Not that he ever expected to be. Even from a distance he can tell that she’s far too bright and optimistic and he too pessimistic and dark. But he will never be where she is. He will never have the chance. In a matter of months, a year if he’s lucky, he’ll be taking a dirt nap in the cemetery, or his ashes will be sitting on his parents’ or maybe Hajime’s mantel. He will never graduate from Hope’s Peak, or get a job, or have anything to look forward to. That eager anticipation of every new day and every new opportunity and the moment when everything starts going right will never be a luxury he can indulge in.

He is going to die. He is going to cease to exist, defeated by a few atrophied nerve cells and bad luck. Ironic.

He feels a lump form in his throat, and before he knows it, he’s crying, tears streaming freely down his face, giant, heaving sobs racking his emaciated frame, and he buries his face in his hands, the weight of his doom finally hitting home, crashing down on him like a ton of rock, burying him beneath it until he’s suffocating, drowning in the dust and debris pinning him to the ground.

“Go to sleep!” his father yells from his parents’ bedroom down the hall.

Nagito gulps and gasps, trying desperately to rein in his violent crying, but just when he thinks he’s finished, another wail worms its way out of his throat and he collapses into tears again. His bedroom door slams, but he doesn’t look up.

 

Even a broken clock is right twice a day. But it’s becoming steadily less clear exactly when he’s right and when he’s wrong. Everything is gray and stormclouds and ash and vicious gales of wind determined to sweep him off of the precipice he already finds himself teetering on the edge of.

 

“Hello!” Hajime greets him, his voice delighted and surprised even though it’s five in the morning and the light outside Nagito’s window has just barely begun to turn gray instead of black.

“Hi,” Nagito says, his voice a little hoarse. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“No, it’s okay. I have a paper due today that I’ve stayed up all night working on. I was already awake.”

Nagito nods. “Do you have time to talk or should I leave you to it?”

“I’ve got time,” Hajime replies quickly. Over the phone Nagito can hear the sound of Hajime getting up from wherever he’s sitting.

“Okay.”

They sit in silence for a long moment.

“So how are you?” Hajime asks. “You sound pretty good right now, for the most part.”

“You mean I sound sane for once.”

“I—” Hajime pauses. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know, I know. Sorry.”

They pause again.

“Look.” Nagito sighs and leans back. “I’m going to stop sounding okay and/or sane in a moment, so just bear with me, okay? This is going to sound really weird, especially from me.”

“Um. Okay? Are you okay?”

“No,” Nagito says flatly. “I’m not okay. I’m going to die. We both know it.”

Hajime is silent.

“So. I want to prevent really cliché and awful when I’m actually on my deathbed, so I’m going to get it over with now. The last thing I want to do is die like everyone else.”

 _Just spit it out!_ screams the silence.

“I love you. I know you already know I love you, but I need to say it, just once, sincerely. I never say it. I think it’s safe to say I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, because though I’m obligated to love them my parents are assholes and I’ve never given enough of a shit about anyone else. You’re my world and I can’t imagine life without you. I tune you out all the time and I’m sorry, I am, but I always know you're there when I need you. You’ve never held a grudge, which is seriously impressive considering everything I’ve done to hurt you. You’re normal and consistent and even though you infuriated me at first you’re the one permanent thing in my life and I don’t know what I could ever do to repay the debt I owe you. You may very well be the only source of real happiness that I’ve ever known. And the only source of sanity. You may not be an Ultimate, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so full of hope and ambition and love. You piss me off a lot but I think that’s only because I let you get under my skin; rarely have you ever done anything really wrong to or around me. I don’t know whether or not you’re going to accept the whole surgery to be an Ultimate thing but I won’t ask because you already know how I feel about it and I’d rather be in the present when I’m still alive and sometimes sane and you’re still you and not screwed up. I love you. I want you to know that now and for the rest of your life, even when I’m dead and you move on to the next guy or girl or whoever. Without you I’m a fucking catastrophe but at least with you I can call myself Hajime’s fucking catastrophe and that’s more than I could ever ask for. You’re always kind to me. You’ve changed my life – what’s left of it, anyway. Never did I think I was capable of loving or being loved, but you’ve made both of those possible. You’ve brought color to my life, and even though we’re both kind of fucked up and doomed in our own ways, you’re more than enough for me and I can only hope I’m enough for you too. In which case you really need to raise your standards because right now they are shit if you’ve spent over a year dealing with the hot fucking mess that is me.” He swallows hard. “I’m done.”

He sits there for a moment, waiting for Hajime to speak, until he realizes he can hear Hajime crying quietly on the other end. “Hajime…” Nagito blinks. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I love you, too,” Hajime says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “I love you so much. Spring break is in two days. I’ll definitely visit.”

“I can’t promise I won’t be in one of my crazy episodes,” Nagito warns.

“I don’t care. What I get is what I get, because you _are_ enough. More than enough for me. No matter what sort of mood or state of mind you’re in, I love you more than anything. I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Okay.” Nagito almost smiles. “See you then.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again!  
> I really hope that was good enough to make up for my absence. I don't know. I felt a little iffy about it but I couldn't quite put my finger on it so I figured I'd leave it up to you guys whether you like it. Let me know what you thought in the comments, and any feedback is appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
